


passing by the magi on the way to jerusalem

by volatilehearted (anomalagous)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 16:58:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12939690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalagous/pseuds/volatilehearted
Summary: My Sciles Secret Santa gift for fandom-madnessess@tumblr for 2017! I hope you enjoy this little piece of holiday fluff. :D





	passing by the magi on the way to jerusalem

It had been eighty-four years since he’d been home.

At least, it  _ felt _ like it had been eighty-four years. Stiles was well aware that it hadn’t even been a  _ full year _ , but every week he spent on the wrong side of the country felt like a year by itself. There had been plenty of  _ weeks _ .

It wasn’t to say that attending George Washington had been a mistake, exactly. It had been a good career move. The FBI internship was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and he’d have been a fool not to take advantage of it. The fact that his internship hadn’t ended with a potential job offer, however, had left a bitter taste in his mouth that Stiles couldn’t seem to quite wash out.

He knew why it had happened. He was well aware of the reputation that haunted his record, the rumors that swirled around the name of his hometown and attached themselves to anything that came out of it like ticks. In some way, it was impossible to get out of Beacon Hills, even two thousand miles away from it.

Of course, in those rare moments where Stiles performed self-reflection with any sort of clarity, he could admit that his own behavior during the internship hadn’t helped his chances either. Officially, the FBI didn’t look kindly on interns with an ‘exaggerated sense of authority’ or an inclination to ‘abuse privileges’. Functionally, they  _ really _ didn’t look kindly on interns who were also perfectly willing to point out which members of the Bureau already struggled with either or both of the previous things.

Finishing out the internship without a job offer at the end was probably the best Stiles could have realistically hoped for, but it still felt like an abject failure. It covered everything he did in DC with a weight like a wet towel, draped it all in the same frustrated notion that Stiles didn’t even know what he was  _ doing _ on the East Coast anymore, so far from everyone he knew.

So far from  _ Scott _ , if he was being completely honest with himself.

Stiles had lived between Scott’s ribs for as long as he could remember. Going to school on the opposite coast had felt from the very start like some kind of surgical separation, like he’d left a literal piece of himself in California. No matter how many times Scott assured him that this was the best idea, that Stiles  _ needed _ to follow his dreams for a little while, that phantom limb sensation had never really gone away. It had only gotten worse, and worse, and Stiles’ longing had grown bigger and broader.

Then he’d had a long, heartbreaking conversation with Lydia one weekend while he was visiting in Boston, and on the train going south from having left her as  _ just a good friend _ , that longing got so big and broad it threatened to crush him.

He couldn’t wait any more. Before the train had even pulled into Union Station, Stiles had resolved that he was going to go back to California for Winter Break, and he was going to  _ see _ Scott.

Stiles had tried to approach the idea with Scott during one of their regular Skype calls, but all he’d gotten from Scott was a familiar rhetoric about concentrating on school so Stiles could come home in four years, and saving money so he could be  _ comfortable _ while concentrating on school. If Stiles had been a different person, he might have felt like Scott was trying to find excuses to push Stiles away, but Stiles knew better. This was  _ Scott McCall _ . There was no ulterior motive. Scott just genuinely wanted Stiles to succeed.

He had every intention of  _ doing _ so, but Stiles knew in the white-hot core of his heart that he was never going to  _ succeed _ without more direct exposure to Scott than he’d had in months.

Which was how he’d found himself here, struggling his luggage out of a taxi in front of BWI Airport. He’d gotten the cheapest ticket on the cheapest airline he could find, but  _ by God _ , Stiles had an airplane ticket to take him to Sacramento. They were probably going to tie him to the wing and call it good, but Stiles didn’t care. He was going to see Scott.

The airport was decorated for the holidays, generic-looking wreaths and trees draped in yellow lights dotting the ticketing area. It felt less like an honest celebration and more like a sterilized attempt to appease the jangled nerves of the hundreds of people thronging through the airport, all as desperate to get  _ somewhere else _ as Stiles was.

Every single one of those hundreds of people seemed to be between Stiles and the actual ticket counter.

For a brief instant, every instinct in Stiles’ body just  _ rebelled _ . He  _ roiled _ with the absolute  _ lack _ of desire to stand in that line for forty days just for the privilege to get crammed into a flying tin can with too many bodies too close to him and stay there for six  _ freaking _ hours. He had to close his eyes and take in a deep breath of the stale, humanity-soaked air to remind himself of what he was doing,  _ why _ he was doing it.

Someone coming in through the door behind him jostled Stiles as they went by, and then cursed him out as they shoved past him into the line. It took all of Stiles’ very shallow reserve of self-control not to throw his carry-on at them.

Stiles was very proud of the fact that he just shuffled forward and got into line behind them instead. He felt very mature. The FBI clearly didn’t know what they’d passed up.

It was way too early in Baltimore, which meant it was _way_ too early in California for Stiles to be texting Scott. That didn’t seem to stop him from taking his phone out of his pocket anyway, pulling open Scott’s contact information just to scroll through texts of the past. Most of the conversations they’d had were still _hilarious_. Stiles read them over again as the line inched along, trying to stifle responses that ran the gamut from snickering to outright _giggles_.

Eventually, the woman ahead of him made a soft sound, half-indulgent and fully-tired, before commenting, “Well, at least  _ somebody _ is enjoying themselves.”

Something in Stiles’ instincts wanted to snap back harder and sharper at her, defense in brutal offense. He didn’t, which he was  _ also _ proud of himself for, because it allowed Stiles to think for a moment and realize she’d sounded more amused than judgmental. Stiles smiled a little as he looked up at her, and then back at his phone. “Yeah, old texts. That’s basically the only reason. Without them I’d probably be screaming into the side of my carry-on by now.”

“Is that who you’re going to visit?” The woman nodded to the phone still in Stiles’ hand. She managed to sound more like she was honestly interested than like she was just trying to make strained small talk. It reminded Stiles of Scott.

That was probably why he answered her with his own nod. “Yeah. I basically haven’t seen him at all since I started college at George Washington. He’s at UC Davis. I’ve kind of being going out of my  _ mind _ .”

“Why did you decide to go to colleges so far apart?” It was a reasonable question, after all. It wasn’t like there was a shortage of colleges on the West Coast. It was a question Stiles had asked himself a hundred times in the last few weeks, each time with more urgency.

He answered the woman with a faded smile. “He’s at UC Davis because he wants to be a Vet. He  _ will _ be a Vet, he’ll be the  _ best _ Vet, and UC Davis is the best Vet school. He got a full ride, he worked  _ so hard _ , I’m--I’m really proud of him. I got into the FBI internship at Quantico. He wouldn’t let me miss that chance. So I’m going to George Washington.”

The woman’s own answering smile was sympathetic, something soft and understanding in her eyes. It made something relax in Stiles’ chest, made it easy for him to slip into a back-and-forth pattern of small talk with her that he usually abhorred. He learned that she was flying to Missouri to visit her daughter’s family at their new house. She learned that he hadn’t gotten a job with the FBI but was still struggling to pull through his degree at George Washington without falling apart at the seams.

The conversation made the long wait in line more tolerable, much to Stiles’ surprise. He was almost disappointed to find it was the woman’s turn to be helped, which was itself an intensely foreign feeling. It was so unsettling that he didn’t have the appropriate amount of his brain left to process the way the woman wished him well as she stepped up to the counter with a kind, “I hope you get to see your boyfriend soon.”

Stiles blinked too many times at the woman’s back. He looked back down at his phone, at the scores of texts that had passed between him and Scott during their separation. On the last screen of texts there was a picture of Scott himself, sporting a two-day beard and a sleepy expression in a bed-bound selfie while he said goodnight. There was a trail of little emoticon hearts beneath the picture, concluding Scott wishing good sleep on Stiles.

That longing, that feeling of  _ missing _ something incredibly important to his ability to function, expanded until Stiles could feel nothing else. It hummed and buzzed in his ears until he imagined he could almost  _ hear _ Scott’s voice calling for him, smell his deodorant.  _ God _ , he needed to see Scott.

Someone’s hand came down on his shoulder, and Stiles startled out of his thoughts so violently he almost dropped his phone. His head snapped up, eyes wide, only to meet a pair of equally wide eyes that he knew so well.

The same eyes that had been causing that  _ burning _ feeling of desperation in his chest.

They were Scott’s eyes. It was  _ Scott _ standing right in front of him, hand on his shoulder, just as confused and astonished as Stiles was. “... _ Stiles _ ?”

The airline attendant at the counter called for the next in line with a tone that told Stiles she’d called before and he just hadn’t heard her. He looked back at her for a second, expression still poleaxed. He needed to check into his flight.

His flight to go see the person who was literally standing right in front of him.

Stiles felt a weird spike of panic, unsure what to do. Scott followed his gaze, just as dumbfounded as Stiles was, the pair of them stupidly looking between the ticketing counter and each other. It wasn’t until the person behind Stiles in line made a rude, impatient noise that it occurred to Stiles to grab his luggage and drag everything out of line to the side, Scott included.

Once they were finally out of the way, Stiles reached up to grab both of Scott’s shoulders, just to be assured he was  _ real _ and not a desperation-fueled hallucination. “What are you  _ doing  _ here?!”

Scott’s eyes somehow widened, his hand gesturing to Stiles’ side from shoulder to hip. “What am  _ I _ doing here, what are  _ you _ doing here?!”

“I go to  _ school _ here!” This was surreal. This was incredible. Stiles was fairly certain this wasn’t actually happening.

Scott seemed real enough when he rocked back on his heels, however, his expression suddenly skeptical. “You don’t go to school at the  _ airport _ , why are you at the  _ airport _ !”

“I was coming to see  _ you _ ! I...I bought tickets to Sacramento and I was gonna drive down to Davis and surprise you ‘cause you wouldn’t  _ let _ me come and I couldn’t take not  _ seeing _ you anymore and--”

Quite abruptly, Scott burst into laughter, loud enough to draw the attention of some of the people nearby. Their gazes, mostly judgmental, somewhat wary, only served to make Stiles nervous and agitated. Eventually, he gave Scott’s shoulders a small shake, frown audible in his voice. “...what’s  _ wrong _ with you?”

Eventually, Scott managed to get himself under control, the expression he lifted to Stiles’ eyes one equally tired and amused. “ _ Stiles _ , the  _ reason _ I wouldn’t let you come to see me is that I decided I was gonna surprise  _ you _ in like... _ August _ . I’m  _ here _ to visit  _ you _ for Christmas break!”

Suddenly, Stiles felt like he was about to cry. Not out of sadness,  _ no _ , but out of sheer, unmitigated  _ relief _ . Not only was he going to get to see  _ Scott _ , be near him and  _ hear _ him and  _ touch _ him, it was because Scott had been so desperate to see  _ Stiles _ that he’d come up with the same idiot plan that Stiles had.

Because they’d  _ almost missed each other completely _ .

And yet, for once, the universe had actually taken  _ pity _ on them.

His grip on Scott’s shoulder tightened. “I, uh. My roommate thinks he’s going to have the dorm room to himself all break, so, I mean, I can’t--”

“Don’t worry about it.” Scott shook his head, his smile broadening and broadening until it threatened to split his face in two. “I have a hotel room near campus. You can stay with me if you don’t want to disturb your roommate.”

They had to get out of there, because Stiles was pretty sure that answer  _ was _ going to make him cry. He jolted into motion, trying desperately to drag Scott along with him. He didn’t want to lose physical contact. “ _ Of course _ I want to stay with you. Come on, let’s--have you got luggage? Let’s just  _ get _ it, okay, and we can...we can take the bus to Greenbelt and get on the subway and--how did you even  _ find _ me in here?”

Scott was happy to go with him, although he did wiggle his arm around so that he could hold Stiles’ free hand rather than get drug along by his wrist. It made Stiles’ whole body feel warm as they headed downstairs to the baggage claim. As Scott laughed again, his voice so soft and welcome, “Stiles, I might be able to hear your heartbeat from across the  _ city _ if I really tried, let alone  _ smell _ you. I just  _ know _ when I’m near you. Especially after  _ so long _ . I got off of the plane and it was like I just  _ knew _ . I didn’t care if it was a hallucination or nerves or anticipation or  _ whatever _ . I went straight to the sound. And there you were.”

There he was. Like Stiles was the oasis Scott had been searching for.

Later, Stiles wouldn’t be able to remember how long they had to wait in the baggage claim, watching the old, creaking carousels spin around and around until they spat out that old set of blue-green-grey luggage Scott had always had, relics from the seventies he kept fastened with bungee cords. He couldn’t say how long they waited on the curb for the shuttle to the Metro station to arrive, one hand shoved under his thigh to keep it warm while the other stayed so gently cradled between Scott’s. He didn’t really know how long it had taken him to guide them through the subway system on autopilot, or to take the taxi to Scott’s hotel.

What he  _ did _ know is that they only stopped holding hands when it was absolutely necessary.

What he did know was that when they dragged their collective luggage into the room and Stiles regarded the single queen-sized bed taking up most of the space, nothing felt  _ wrong _ or  _ uncomfortable _ . Rather, it felt like where he was  _ supposed _ to be spending his holidays.

Wrapped up in Scott’s close proximity with no obligation to share him with anyone else.

“Sorry there isn’t more room,” Scott apologized, as he always did, despite Stiles’ active thoughts to the exact opposite. “I didn’t want to assume you’d...I mean I thought you’d be at your dorm.”

Whatever else Stiles wanted to say, absolution he wanted to give based on how much he  _ didn’t mind _ that he’d be sharing a bed with his best friend, he found his mind catching on something else instead. His eyes narrowed, and he darted them between the bed and Scott’s face a few times. “...You just said you didn’t want to  _ assume _ . Does that mean you were going to  _ offer _ ? Even though you only got one bed?”

And  _ there _ , Scott started to  _ stammer _ . If Stiles didn’t know better, he would have said that Scott was also starting to  _ blush _ . “I-I-I...I mean. I had a  _ plan _ . And I was going to  _ ask _ . But I missed you  _ so much _ , and I started to think...maybe it was the kind of missing that should be sharing a bed. I thought I’d work up to it, maybe a couple of days in, test the waters, see how you felt, but now you’re mentioning it and I’m just  _ saying _ all of this like an  _ idiot _ \--”

He honestly sounded like Stiles, words falling haphazardly out of his mouth without any guidance from Scott’s brain. It was like he’d picked up the bad habit just to fill in the space left behind when Stiles was no longer at his side to do it.

It made Stiles’ heart flutter.  _ That _ made Scott’s chin jerk upwards and his eyes narrow in on Stiles’ chest.

Stiles took the precious few steps it took to close the distance between them, in the tiny micro-hotel room Scott had rented. He had wanted it to look suave, but of course he tripped over Scott’s luggage and started to go over, both hands flailing into the air. It was only by the grace of Scott’s superhuman reflexes that he didn’t hit the ground, both of Scott’s hands wrapped securely around his biceps to hold him up. “...careful!”

Stupidly, Stiles looked up at Scott’s so-near face and panted out, “There’s a bar downstairs.”

“What?” The confusion wrinkled Scott’s brows in a way that was downright  _ adorable _ , which was also  _ unfair _ . “I mean,  _ yes _ , but,  _ what _ ?”

“There’s a bar downstairs, and you and me are both  _ legal _ now, and I say we should go down there and celebrate being able to  _ touch _ each other, and then we can come back up here and I can tell you what I think about that offer you were gonna make, and then we can  _ really _ celebrate being able to  **touch** each other.” It all came out in a rush, before Stiles could even try to restrain himself. As always, once it was out, he just kind of  _ owned _ it, straightening up to watch Scott’s face for any hint of a response.

He didn’t have to wait long, because Scott wasn’t subtle. Rather, he let his smile blossom like the early dawn, and gave a shallow nod. “... _ Yeah _ . That sounds like a great plan.”

At that very moment, Stiles decided: it was going to be a  _ very _ good Christmas.


End file.
